


Five Times Peter Passes Out in Inconvenient Places + One Time it’s the Perfect Spot

by awesomesockes, whumphoarder



Series: Christ, What Now? [11]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Amusement Parks, Anxiety, Blood, Blood Pressure Issues, Ceiling Vent Clint Barton, Claustrophobia, Dehydration, Driver's Ed, Escalators, Fainting, Fluff, Gen, Hiding Medical Issues, Horseback Riding, Humor, Minor Injuries, Peter Parker Needs a Blood Pressure Monitor, Peter Parker Whump, Peter Parker is a Damsel in Distress, Peter Parker is a Little Shit, Seasickness, Shock, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Vomiting, Weddings, Whump, academic decathlon - Freeform, tony stark needs a break
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-16 04:27:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21030251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awesomesockes/pseuds/awesomesockes, https://archiveofourown.org/users/whumphoarder/pseuds/whumphoarder
Summary: In which Peter has a habit of fainting in precarious situations and a very exasperated Tony has to deal with it.(Alternative title: Peter the Victorian Lady)





	1. Peter vs. Escalator

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [sallyidss](https://sallyidss.tumblr.com/) and [xxx-cat-xxx](https://xxx-cat-xxx.tumblr.com/) for beta reading!

“So did that help you narrow it down any?” Tony asks the kid as they step out of the exhibit hall. 

“Uhh…” Peter is flipping through the various brochures he’s accumulated throughout the day, looking dazed. Tony can’t blame him—the New York STEM College Fair is a lot to take in. He and Peter have been hopping from booth to booth since nine o’clock that morning, and after a full day of enthusiastic recruiters, brilliant technological exhibits, and numerous college presentations, even Tony is feeling a bit overstimulated.

Happy is tailing behind, his arms loaded down with the free college merch he keeps picking up from various tables. “RIT had the best cookie samples,” he comments. 

“Mm…” Peter hums, nodding in recollection. “Those were the ones with the M&Ms, right?”

“Yup,” Happy confirms, “unlike Princeton with that _ oatmeal raisin _ crap.” His face screws up in disgust. “It’s the twenty-first century—why are we still putting _ shriveled grapes _ in baked goods?”

Peter lets out a tired giggle, and Tony just rolls his eyes. “So aside from the snacks, did any of the _ schools _stick out to you?”

Shrugging, Peter steps onto the escalator that leads to the downstairs lobby, the other two following behind. “I dunno, a lot of them looked cool,” he says non-committedly. 

“I’ll always be partial to MIT,” Tony says casually. “But I do understand if CalTech swayed you—that robotics demonstration was impressive. Or there’s always UCLA if—”

“God no,” Happy butts in with a groan. “Over my dead body.”

Tony sighs exasperatedly at Happy. “Just because they kicked _ you _ out doesn’t mean they’re a bad school.”

Happy waves a hand dismissively. “Yeah, yeah, say that all you want, but I was _ set up, _ I tell you...”

Peter glances quizzically in Tony’s direction, but then just shrugs again and goes back to staring straight ahead as they continue their descent. Tony figures the kid must really be tired if he’s not even curious enough to question Happy further.

Peter muses, “I was talking with a couple student reps from Hopkins who said their cafeteria food is actually pretty decent...”

“Hopkins?” Tony frowns. “You wanna be a doctor now? I thought you were going the physics route.”

Peter hums a bit and grips the side rail. “Not really, just looking around…”

“That’s good—look all you want,” Tony says with an approving nod. “Besides, it’s only your junior year. You’ve got plenty of time to figure it out.” 

Today has been fun for Tony, getting to show Peter all of his college options. This fair is exactly the kind of event Tony never got to attend himself when he was younger, given that Howard had all of Tony’s education planned out for him before he could even walk. He huffs humorously. “At least you’re older than I was. I’m telling you, kid, when you start college before your balls even drop, you—”

All at once, Peter’s legs give out and he goes pitching forward, his knees crashing into the step in front of him.

Swearing sharply, both Happy and Tony make a grab for the kid’s arm, but Peter is two steps below them and gravity is winning this round. Peter continues to tumble limply down the rest of the moving stairs, eliciting cries of surprise and horror from bystanders.

“Peter!” Tony cries. His heart pounding, he races down the rest of the stairs, Happy hot on his heels. Peter hits the bottom, his head landing mere inches from where the stairs disappear into the ground. Thankfully, someone slaps the emergency stop button on the escalator and it comes to a halt before the receding stairs can catch Peter’s curls.

A small crowd gathers as Tony drops to his knees beside Peter’s unconscious body. There’s a bloody gash near Peter’s hairline that matches the sharp grooves on the edge of the escalator steps. He stretches out a hand to touch the kid’s arm, but is interrupted by a frantic-sounding lady.

“Don’t move him, don’t move him!” she cries. “I’ll get help!”

Happy drops his armfuls of free merch onto the ground and immediately assumes his head of security stance, pushing the crowd back. “It’s alright, ma’am, we’ve got this under control,” he assures. 

Tony taps Peter’s shoulder urgently. “Hey, Pete, time to wake up, buddy…” He’s scanning the kid’s body for any obvious signs of other injuries. “C’mon, rise and shine,” he commands.

Finally, Peter groans. His eyelids flutter open, causing Tony to breathe out a sigh of relief. “...Wha’ ‘appen’?” he mumbles.

“Yeah, that’s what we’re all wondering, kid,” Tony says with a huff. Peter is already starting to gingerly push himself up, so Tony helps him the rest of the way to sitting. He pulls a handkerchief out of his jacket pocket and presses it to the cut on Peter’s forehead. “Kinda hoping you could shed some light on why you just decided to take a swan dive down the escalator.”

“Huh?” Peter looks confused. “...I did what?” He blinks around, taking in the conference center and crowd surrounding them. “Oh.” The color is rapidly returning to his cheeks now and he moves a shaky hand up to take the handkerchief from Tony. “Whoops.”

Tony’s eyes narrow. “When’s the last time you had something to eat?”

Peter thinks for a second. “Um… there were some Hershey’s Kisses at the Vanderbilt table? So… maybe three hours ago?”

With an exasperated sigh, Tony pinches the bridge of his nose. Curse these damn superheroes and their super metabolisms—he recalls when Steve once swooned while walking across a busy street in London because they were forty-five minutes late for lunch.

“Alright, kid.” Tony stands and hoists Peter up to his feet. “Let's get some McDonald’s into you.”


	2. Peter vs. Amusement Park

There’s the familiar sound of metal clanging against metal.

_ “Forty-three...” _ Tony and Peter both mutter tiredly at the same time as the man in front of them bends down sheepishly to retrieve the magnetic metal chain that forms the snaking queue toward their current ride from where it lies against the pole. They’ve been hearing that sound all day, every time someone in line leans against the barrier and the chain falls to the ground. They started counting sometime around noon.

“What are we doing after Jurassic World?” Peter asks as they inch forward.

Tony glances down at his watch and sees a text from Pepper. “Happy and Morgan just finished the Simpsons ride and they’re on their way down here to meet us. I guess Morgan was pretty bummed about not being tall enough to ride that ‘Forbidden Journey’ Harry Potter thing.”

Peter hums in sympathy. “Bet she wishes she got Pepper’s height genes…”

Tony kicks his foot playfully, eliciting a giggle from the teenager. “Hey, I’m taller than you,” he points out.

“Yeah but I’m still growing,” Peter says with a grin. “You’ve been done for like, fifty years.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Watch it kid, or I’m not taking you on any more family vacations.”

(Peter shuts up after that.)

The two continue to slowly make their way toward the ride. Despite their express passes, they have been waiting in line for over an hour. Tony is low-key regretting letting Peter and Morgan talk him into taking them to Universal Studios over Fourth of July weekend rather than simply relaxing at the pool of their recently rebuilt Malibu mansion as planned. But, even with the hordes of people all around and the hot sun beating down on them, Tony has to admit it’s been a pretty fun time. Seeing the kids’ excitement over the various shows, attractions, and rides has had him grinning most of the day.

The line moves forward again as the next boat fills with passengers. From the looks of it, they should be boarding the following round. Tony expects more excitement from the kid, given Peter’s slight obsession with dinosaurs and the fact he’s been talking about this ride all day, but he’s fairly quiet now as they shuffle along.

“Getting tired?” Tony asks, turning to him.

“Mm…” Peter nods a bit, then swallows. “Uh, do you have any water left?”

Tony shakes his head. “No, I think I left my bottle on that Mummy ride.”

“Oh. Okay,” Peter says with a sigh. “No problem…”

“We’ll get some dinner after this,” Tony promises. He spies the other three members of their group sitting on a bench fifteen yards away from the queue and waves at them. Pepper and Morgan wave back, while Happy, holding a massive plushie of Toothless the dragon, gives a nod. “I saw a cafe somewhere around here before.” He turns back to look at Peter as he continues, “They have burgers and ice cream and—”

That’s when he notices Peter’s eyes roll back in his head. The kid’s knees buckle a split second later and he starts to collapse.

“Whoa!” Tony shoots his arm out to grab Peter’s bicep. The kid slumps into him and it’s all Tony can do to loop his other arm around him to slow his descent to the ground. Peter’s limp arm swings, taking out one of the metal chains of the queue barriers on his way down. It clangs into the supporting pole.

_ Forty-four, _ Tony thinks bitterly to himself as he guides Peter’s body to the ground.

There are a few scattered gasps from the surrounding crowd. Tony hears someone call for security, but he’s more focused on the unconscious boy in front of him. “Peter?” Tony asks, tapping his cheek urgently. “Peter, can you hear me?”

The kid gives no response, so Tony switches to shaking him by the shoulder. A few people step around him in line, muttering curiously as they pass. “Peter? C’mon, kid, let’s not do this here…”

“Excuse me, excuse me! Sorry, I’m with them...” Tony recognizes Pepper’s voice—polite but firm—drawing closer. He glances over his shoulder to see her ducking under the barrier at the side of the queue and weaving her way toward him. “I saw him drop. What’s going on?” she asks in concern.

“I think he fainted,” Tony replies. “Do you have any water?”

Pepper starts digging through her bag at the same time that a staff member appears. She’s holding a radio and not looking at all fazed by what’s just occurred. 

“It’s probably heat exhaustion or dehydration,” the staff member assesses. She crouches down beside Peter, whose eyelids have just started to flutter. “Pretty common around here. We’ll just move him out of line and—”

Peter’s eyes suddenly snap open. “No!” he gasps, starting to push himself up on his elbows. “Can’t leave! We’re so close!”

Tony rolls his eyes and helps the kid all the way up to sitting. “You just fainted, Peter. You’re not going on Jurassic World.”

Peter looks stricken. “But… Mr. Stark! We waited _so_ _long!”_

“Yeah, long enough for you to get dehydrated, apparently,” Tony retorts as Pepper uncaps a water bottle and hands it to the kid. “Take a few sips of that and then we’ll go sit for a bit. Try again after dinner.”

Peter groans, but sips his water anyway. Then Tony and Pepper each take an arm and hoist him to his feet.

“You got him?” the staff member checks. “I can help you take him to the first aid station—it’s not far from here.”

“I think we’ve got it handled,” Tony declines. “Thanks.”

The lady leaves, speaking into her radio as she goes. Tony and Pepper guide the wobbly teenager out of line and over to where Morgan and Happy are waiting anxiously.

“Peter!” Morgan exclaims. She’s holding a white box. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Peter mumbles. His cheeks are looking pinker than before and Tony suspects it’s more than just the slight sunburn he’s acquired.

“Uncle Happy said you might be hungry!” She thrusts the box out in front of her. The top has a see-through window, revealing the single largest pink-glazed, sprinkled donut Tony has ever laid his eyes on. The thing has to be at least eight inches in diameter and there’s a sticker on the front that says ‘Lard Lad’. “We got a donut for you!”

Peter swallows hard, looking a bit sick. “Uh, maybe in a little bit…”

“Yeah, water first, kiddo,” Tony says, intercepting the box from his daughter and passing it back to Happy. “Maybe a soda.”

Morgan’s eyes sparkle. “Then donuts?” she asks.

“Then donuts,” Tony promises.

Peter sighs dizzily as Tony and Pepper ease him onto a bench. “Then Jurassic World...”


	3. Peter vs. Academic Decathlon

“Which scientist received the 1922 Nobel Prize in Physics for his foundational contributions to atomic structure and quantum theory?” the moderator asks.

From his seat in the audience, Tony leans over to May and mutters, “Bohr.” She promptly shushes him. 

The moderator goes on, “Is it, a) Werner Heisenberg, b) Nikola Tesla, c) Niels Bohr, d) Alb—” 

He’s cut off by the sound of both team’s buzzers. “Visions Academy?” he calls.

“Aw c’mon,” Tony grumbles under his breath as a student from the opposing school correctly answers the question as C, Niels Bohr. “Midtown totally buzzed in first.”

May smiles and shakes her head slowly. “You get used to it—they’ll get the next one.”

Tony huffs and leans back in his seat.

At first, when Peter invited him to attend Midtown’s regional academic decathlon match in Brooklyn, Tony was pretty ambivalent about the idea. But it seemed like it meant a lot to the kid, so he’d had FRIDAY clear his schedule to allow him to spend his Saturday in a metal folding chair on the floor of a high school gymnasium. Now, nearly seven hours in, he’s finding himself thoroughly invested in the competitive atmosphere.

The two schools battle back and forth throughout the final quiz round of the event, often buzzing in with the answer even before the moderator finishes giving the question. The points rack up on both sides, leaving Tony on the edge of his metal seat.

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen,” the mod declares, “for the final tie-breaker question, our category is astronomy.”

May leans into Tony’s side, whispering excitedly, “He’s got this! Astronomy is one of his best subjects.”

The mod continues, “Which constellation of seven bright stars includes Merak, Megrez, and Mizar? Is it—”

His eyes lighting up, Peter slams the buzzer and Tony’s breath catches in his throat. _ Ursa Major, kid, _ he thinks. _ The Big Dipper. You got this. _

“Midtown?”

Peter opens his mouth and leans in to the microphone. But rather than answer, Peter’s eyes roll back and he slumps sideways, crashing into the shoulder of a very startled-looking Flash.

“Whoa!” Flash yelps, “The hell, Parker?” Immediately, he shoves the unconscious kid off of him, but as Peter is sitting at the end of the table, there’s nothing to stop him from bonelessly tumbling out of his chair and onto the stage floor.

The crowd gasps, but Tony and May are already out of their seats.

“Did he just pass out?” May asks in disbelief as she hurries towards the platform. “Did that really just happen?”

Tony wastes no time in jogging after her. “This kid, I swear to God…” he mutters.

The stage is a flurry of activity as the students all gather around. MJ is already kneeling by Peter’s side, balling up her yellow blazer to stuff under his feet. Ned is hovering over his friend, his eyes wide and face going ashen. 

May rushes to kneel next to MJ, and Tony is about to do the same when Ned grabs his arm, halting him. “Um, Mr. Stark, sir?” Ned whispers urgently, as Tony spins around to look at him.

“Yeah?” Tony frowns at the obvious nervousness the kid is exhibiting. 

“Can you, uh—Can we…?”—Ned jerks his head to the side, indicating an area of the stage away from most of the crowd—“Do you have a minute?”

Tony nods, his eyebrows knitting together as he moves quickly in the direction Ned pulls him. He’s definitely not getting a good feeling about this.

The second they’re out of earshot of the others, Ned starts babbling. “Okay please don’t be mad—I told him he should just stay home and recover! But he said it was no big deal and he’s had far worse and that he could still compete—like you know this is _ regionals_, right, Mr. Stark? Like if we win, we could qualify for state, and then nationals, and then—”

Tony holds up a hand, cutting Ned off. “Okay, I’m gonna stop you right there. What the hell are we talking about, kid?”

“Last night Peter had a BP!” Ned blurts out.

“What? Are you talking about his blood pressure?” Tony asks with a frown. “Because we already know that’s fucked if he—”

“No, no,” Ned interrupts. “A _ BP_ .” At Tony’s look of confusion, he leans in a little closer and lowers his voice before explaining, “You know, _ a bad patrol!” _

Tony’s frown deepens. “Wait, you call it a—” He cuts himself off, running a hand over his face in exasperation. “You know what, never mind. Just tell me what happened on his”—he puts air quotes around the term—_“BP.” _

If possible, Ned looks even more nervous. Tony glances back over his shoulder and is relieved to see that Peter is sitting up now, looking dazed as he sips from a bottle of water someone has passed him while May supports him.

“Um, so he was chasing this car thief down some back alleys...” Ned begins. “And then the guy turned onto this side street, so Peter ran after him. But you know, his spidey sense has been kinda hit or miss lately, so he didn’t really notice the… uh, the garbage truck.”

“The garbage truck?” Tony echos.

“Yeah, the one that hit him,” Ned concludes. “Like…” He claps his hands together in demonstration.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Tony pinches the bridge of his nose. “How hurt is he?”

Ned grimaces. “Um, we were thinking like three broken ribs? Maybe four? Probably not five though—five is the max,” he says quickly. “But we already popped his shoulder back in, and the concussion was really mild, so…”

Before Ned can say another word, Tony spins on his heel to march back over to Peter. This kid is so grounded.


	4. Peter vs. Air Ducts

“You really couldn’t have found an easier way in?” Tony complains, crawling along behind Clint and Peter through the building’s air ducts. The rest of the team has the place surrounded and are waiting for Tony’s signal to strike.

“I’ve spent two weeks scouting out this place,” Clint retorts. He leads their group to an intersection between two of the vents and turns right. “This is the most direct and undetectable way to the control room.”

Tony rolls his eyes, even though no one can see him since he’s bringing up the rear. “You just wanted an excuse to pop out of the vents and we all know it.”

He can hear the grin in Clint’s voice. “It never gets old, Stark. You’ll see.”

They continue to crawl for another minute or so before Tony notices just how heavy and quick Peter’s breaths are becoming. “Doing alright, kid?” he asks.

“Oh yeah, fine, no problem!” Peter squeaks in reassurance. He takes a few more short, shaky breaths. “Um, how much further do you think it’ll be?”

Tony frowns. Maybe bringing a kid who once had a literal building collapse on him through an enclosed metal tube wasn’t their best plan.

“We’re getting close now,” Clint replies. “At the next fork, we’re gonna make a right, then a left, then two more lefts, then we go up one level, and then—”

As Clint is still speaking, Peter’s knee slips out from under him, sending his right leg shooting backwards to kick Tony in the arm as he falls forward.

Tony grunts in surprise. “Watch it, kid,” he grumbles. But rather than apologizing and pushing himself back up as Tony expects, Peter just continues to lie slumped on the vent floor.

“Peter?” Tony taps the kid’s foot, but receives no response. “Kid? You okay?” Between the dim lighting and the cramped space, he can’t make out what’s going on exactly, but a sense of dread fills him nonetheless. _ “Barton!” _ Tony hisses as loud as he dares, unsure how far they are from an opening.

“Yeah?” the archer replies. Over the kid’s limp body, Tony sees Clint turn his head to look back at him. Then his eyes immediately fall to Peter. “Aw shit.”

Tony heaves out a sigh, his suspicions having been confirmed. “Great. He always picks the best places to conk out...”

Clint somehow manages to rotate himself around in the narrow passageway (Tony sometimes forgets just how freakishly flexible the man’s formative years in the circus have made him) and starts shaking Peter’s shoulder. 

“Pete, we’ve got a mission to finish here. You need to wake up,” Clint commands quietly. “This is really unprofessional, kid…”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Just help me flip him over—we’ll get his feet up and he should be back in a minute or so.”

Over the comms, Tony hears Steve’s voice. “Nat and I are in position. How far are you?” the soldier asks.

“Minor setback, Capsicle,” Tony reports. “Please standby.” He taps his earpiece to turn off the microphone.

“Why does this keep happening to him?” Clint whispers as they roll Peter onto his back. Through the comms, they can still hear Steve’s urgent questioning, but they ignore it to focus on the unconscious kid before them.

Tony lifts Peter’s feet up as high as he can manage given his awkward kneeling position. “This time, I’m guessing it’s due to the fact you dragged a claustrophobic teenager through a fucking _ air vent,_” he scoffs.

Before Clint can retort, Peter moans lowly and starts to stir.

“You’re alright, kid,” Tony mutters. Then, turning back on his mic, he adds in a grumble, “Listen. Next time, we’re bursting through the window like _ real _ superheroes...”


	5. Peter vs. Driver's Ed

Tony is standing in the compound’s kitchen on Friday afternoon pouring himself a cup of coffee when he hears two approaching voices. 

“...just need some more practice, kid! You’ll get the hang of it eventually,” Happy assures, turning the corner and coming into view.

Peter groans as he follows Happy through the room, dragging his backpack across the kitchen tile. He makes a beeline to the couch in the adjoining living room before flopping down face first against the cushions. “Well we won’t know because I am never, ever, _ ever _ trying again,” he declares.

Tony glances up over his steaming mug in amusement. “Rough day?”

Happy rolls his eyes. “He had a driver’s ed lesson today in school. Didn’t go so well.”

Peter buries his face in the sofa pillow and gives a muffled groan.

Tony raises an eyebrow. “How ‘not well’ are we talking? Do I need my checkbook, or my lawyer?”

Flipping to his back, Peter covers his face with his hands. “We were just in the back parking lot, but I got the gas and brake mixed up and I nearly ran over Abraham! And Mr. Dell had to keep braking for me, and then at the end I had a sneezing fit and took out three traffic cones.” He lets out another loud moan. “I never want to see a car again!”

**X**

Thirty minutes later, Peter is sitting in the driver’s seat of Tony’s least-expensive Audi, looking wildly uncomfortable (despite the car’s custom leather seats).

“This is a terrible idea, Mr. Stark,” he deadpans.

“No, it’s a _ fantastic _ idea,” Tony retorts as he buckles himself into the passenger seat. “You need driving lessons, and I have tons of experience, a valid license, fourteen cars, and a hundred-acre private compound—free of all traffic cones and classmates. By the end of this weekend, you’re gonna be the next Michael Schumacher.”

Peter frowns. “Who?”

Tony shakes his head a bit. “Never mind,” he mutters, handing over the key. “You’ll be a great driver. Just start her up, kid.”

His hand trembling slightly, Peter slides the key into the ignition and turns it on. The engine revs to life.

Peter gulps. “This is so not my school’s 2005 Toyota Corolla…” 

Tony chuckles. “Hey, at least I didn’t put you in a stick shift yet,” he points out. 

The kid shoots him a horrified look. “I want to go home.”

“You’ll be fine,” Tony says, rolling his eyes. “This is private property. Hardly anyone is even home today, and worst case scenario, I’m sitting right here. You trust me, don’t you?”

It’s a low blow, but it has the desired effect. With a deep sigh, Peter puts his foot on the brake and shifts the gear to drive.

For the first ten minutes, Peter is so tense that they don’t even exceed fifteen miles per hour. He’s checking his mirrors frequently enough that Tony fears the kid might get whiplash. Tony keeps his voice calm and steady, which does seem to help, although Peter still panics so much when a moth hits the windshield that Tony has to adjust the wheel for him to keep them on the road.

Over the next half hour, Peter does seem to be relaxing into it, albeit gradually. He’s indicating his turns with at least eighty percent accuracy and Tony no longer feels like he might break a collarbone from how hard he’s thrown into the seatbelt when the kid brakes.

“You’re definitely improving,” Tony says as they back out of Peter’s sixth attempt to park. They were only three inches over the line that time. “What do you say we raise the stakes a bit?”

“Wh-What do you mean?” Peter stammers, shifting back to drive.

“I mean leave the compound,” Tony explains. At Peter’s terrified look, he quickly adds, “Don’t worry, it’s all country roads for a couple miles until you hit that old motel, Mama Rosa’s Hideaway. It’s not like I’m suggesting Times Square during rush hour.”

It takes quite a bit of convincing on Tony’s part, but eventually the kid starts heading down the compound’s driveway. They’re just through the security gate when Tony hears the familiar vroom of Pepper’s Porsche approaching. She turns off the main road and onto the driveway.

Tony glances sideways and sees the blood instantly draining from the kid’s face. “It’s okay, Pete,” he says calmly, “just stay in your lane and—”

That’s as far as he gets before the kid crumples forwards into the steering wheel, unconscious. His head collides with the Audi’s horn, making it blare. Tony catches a glimpse of Pepper’s startled face in the oncoming car just before Peter shoots back up, blinking in confusion. 

“Brake!” Tony yelps. “Hit the brake!”

With a jolt, Peter slams his foot down on a pedal. But instead of braking, the car accelerates, sending them hurtling even faster in Pepper’s direction.

“NO! Not the gas!” Tony grabs the wheel and yanks to the right, just as Pepper does the same in the Porsche. The two cars narrowly miss each other before both spinning off the road in separate directions. The Audi does a 180 on the grass before finally coming to a halt.

“Ohmygodohmygodohmygod,” Peter blabbers as his mentor just sits there, panting heavily. The kid releases his hands and Tony notices there are imprints of his clenched fingers in the car’s steering wheel. Damn super strength.

“Shit kid…” Tony breathes out. “You alright?”

Peter doesn’t answer. His hands are shaking so hard that it takes him two tries to unbuckle the seatbelt. Then he wrestles the car door open and practically falls out of it onto his knees. “Oh god…”

Tony scrambles out of the passenger side and hurries around to where Peter is kneeling hunched forward on the ground. “We nearly _ died, _ Mr. Stark!” he moans as he rips out two fistfuls of grass. “She came out of _ nowhere!” _

(Tony figures it’s not the best time to mention that Pepper was actually only driving on the road—very much in her own lane—so he just pats the kid’s shoulder consolingly.)

“Tony! What just happened?” Pepper demands, looking frazzled as she quickly hops out of her car and approaches the two.

“Just, uh, some driver’s ed?” Tony says sheepishly. “He got a bit stressed when you showed up. Think he passed out for a second there.”

Groaning, Peter just covers his face with his hands, blades of grass falling through his fingers. “I’m so, so, _ so _ sorry!” 

Pepper sighs deeply. “It’s okay—at least nobody got hurt,” she assures Peter. Then, looking over to Tony, she adds, “You need to get him a blood pressure monitor or something.”

“Yeah, I’ll work on that...” Tony sighs. Then, looking at the distressed kid on the ground, he adds, “I think I’ll just drive us back now.” 

Peter only groans.


	6. + 1 Adrenaline Crash vs. Peter

“He had so many _ arms, _ Mr. Stark…” Peter murmurs as the three of them make their way through the compound to the living room. Steve and Peter are still dressed in their super suits and Tony is pressing an ice pack to his own elbow. “So many,” he whispers.

“Yes yes, the alien had a lot of arms,” Tony says with an exasperated sigh. “We were there too.”

“But... so many!” Peter insists. “I’ve never_ seen _so many arms.” He frowns a bit and quirks his head to the side. “Well, except for on a centipede, but that’s probably mostly legs, right?” Peter gasps slowly. “Wait! Do you think some of the alien’s arms were actually legs?”

Tony huffs. “I don’t know, kid—I never took Alien Anatomy 101.”

Peter’s eyes widen. “Is that a real class?”

Steve looks at Tony in concern. “You’re _ sure _ he didn’t hit his head?”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Yes, I’m sure. No injury reports from Karen. He just gets weird after long missions—it’s like an overtired, delirious, adrenaline high kinda thing. That’s why I usually make Happy drive him home.”

Happy sticks his head around the corner and hollers from the kitchen, “Never again, Tony!”

“Uh huh, sure,” Tony replies. Over Peter’s continued babbling, Tony whispers to Steve, “He secretly loves it.”

Steve gives a small chuckle.

“Imagine if you had all those arms, Mr. Stark,” Peter goes on in awe, seemingly oblivious to the adults’ conversation. “You could do so many things at once! Like… Like…” His face screws up in thought. “Like make pancakes, and weld something, and brush your teeth, and vacuum the floor, and… um… play the clarinet, and…”

Tony nudges the kid to sit on the couch. “Just chill out, alright?”

“Alright, alright.” Peter sighs as he sits down, but then immediately looks up again, wild-eyed. “Wait! I’m a _ spider! _ Why didn’t I grow any extra limbs?” he demands. “I’m supposed to have eight and I’ve only got…”—he glances down as if to count—“four.” He frowns a bit at his own lap. “Unless you count my—”

Steve’s eyes go wide. 

“Shh, Peter, enough,” Tony cuts him off. “Not another word out of you, got it? Just sit still and wait for dinner.”

_ “Fine,” _ Peter wearily agrees. He slumps back against the cushions. 

Tony sits down on the couch beside Peter while Steve moves over to one of the armchairs to discuss the mission for a few minutes while they wait. The soldier argues that the flaming arrows Clint debuted were overkill, but Tony defends the aesthetic.

“Gotta let the man have some fun, Cap,” Tony insists. “Otherwise it all builds up inside him and he gets all dark and moody and obsessed with that sword of his.”

“Yeah, you’ve got a point there…” Steve hums, nodding.

“Pizza’s here,” Happy announces gruffly from the kitchen. “Get it while you can—Thor’s on his way.”

“That means we got about T-minus sixty seconds before we’re scraping crumbs off the box,” Tony grumbles.

Steve hops up from his seat while Tony turns to look at the kid. Peter has stopped talking nonsense now and has his eyes closed as he leans back against the pillows.

_ And now we have the crash, _ Tony thinks to himself. “C’mon, Pete,” he says with a sigh. “Dinner time.” 

Peter groans. “I’m so tired… I could sleep for a week…”

“Nope,” Tony declares. “You need to eat something before I can send you back to your aunt. I even ordered that taco pizza thing you like,” he says with a grimace.

“Ugh, fine,” Peter sighs. He starts to push himself up, only to collapse back onto the sofa with a cushioned flop, his head landing directly in Tony’s lap.

“Very funny, kid.” Tony rolls his eyes. “I know you’re exhausted—we all are—but you don’t have to be so dramatic about it.”

Peter doesn’t give any response. 

Steve chuckles. “Come on, Peter. Tony’s right—if your metabolism is anything like mine, you need to refuel.”

Peter continues to lay there limply.

“Peter?” Tony shakes the kid’s arm a bit. “Kid?” There’s still no response.

Steve’s smile disappears. “Is he okay?”

“I think he fainted,” Tony says simply. He snorts a bit. “At least he finally picked a decent spot this time.”

“Should I get someone?” Steve offers, his brows knitting together in concern. “Like Bruce, or...?”

Tony huffs out a small laugh, brushing one of the curls out of Peter’s eyes. “I think we’ll be fine. He’s never out for very long.” He pauses for a second. “Maybe just save us some pizza.”

“Sure thing,” Steve says with a smile.


	7. Bonus Drabbles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A collection of bonus drabbles, some expanding on specific parts of the story and others simply featuring various members of the team dramatically taking swan dives in an array of situations. Enjoy!

**Dropping Like Flies:**

  1. ****Super Duper Swoon****
  2. **Decathlon Aftermath**
  3. **Fake it Til You Make it**
  4. **Unhappy Marriage**
  5. **Horsing Around **
  6. **The Bean Tower**
  7. **Man Overboard **
  8. **Flash Crash **
  9. **Just a Fluke**
  10. **Vital Solutions**
  11. **Shovel Trouble **

* * *

** **1\. Super Duper Swoon ** **

“Can’t we just get one of those sausage roll things?” Steve asks wearily as they stand at the corner of Oxford and Regent street. “We’ve passed at least three stands selling them.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Just two more blocks, Rogers. Then we’ll be at the best fish and chips shop in London.”

Steve’s stomach growls loudly. “Yeah, but the sausage rolls are _ here now... _”

_ “Ten minutes,” _Tony scoffs. “We’ll be there in ten minutes. Just be patient. God, you’re worse than Happy when he doesn’t get fed on time...”

Steve sighs deeply. “Alright. I’ll wait.”

The light changes and Tony and Steve follow the crowd forward across the street. They’ve made it halfway through the intersection when, out of the corner of his eye, Tony sees Steve collapse to the ground.

“Whoa!” At first, Tony assumes the soldier must have tripped and quickly bends over to try to help him up again, but then notices his closed eyes and limp form. “Steve?” he questions, tapping him on the arm. “C’mon, buddy, don’t do this now!”

The street quickly clears of pedestrians as the countdown timer on the crosswalk reaches zero. That only leaves Tony and Steve in the middle of the road.

“Steve! Let’s go!” Tony’s shaking the soldier urgently now. 

Traffic is resuming and much to Tony’s horror, a double-decker bus is coming straight for them. Seeing no other option, Tony does the only thing he can think of.

He slaps the super soldier hard across the face.

Steve sits up with a jolt, gasping. The approaching bus blares its horn.

“MOVE!” Tony orders and finally Steve scrambles to his feet. The two manage to make it across before the bus flattens them into pancakes, but only barely. They stand on the curb, panting heavily.

“Alright, you win,” Tony gasps out, clutching his chest. “Sausage rolls coming right up.”

* * *

** **2\. Decathlon Aftermath** **

“C’mon guys, seriously, there’s literally _ one question _ left!” Peter whines as Tony steers him toward the parking lot, one hand gripping the kid’s upper arm. May is walking alongside them, a concerned look on her face. 

Tony scoffs at him. “You know, you’re lucky your whole team didn’t get disqualified when you decided to channel your inner Victorian lady during the final round of an event with three hundred spectators.”

Peter’s eyes fall to his feet as he shuffles along. “Couldn’t we just wait to see who won?”

“No,” Tony snaps. “You need to get checked out.”

Really, they probably could have waited another ten minutes to see the conclusion of the match, but quite frankly, Tony is somewhat pissed with Peter for tampering with Karen’s injury reporting protocol (yet again). Academic Decathlon Regionals or not, he thinks the kid deserves some kind of consequence.

“Ned promised he would call as soon as they’re allowed to have their phones back,” May tells Peter. “I’m sure he’ll fill you in on everything you missed.”

Peter groans, but has the sense not to protest any further.

They arrive at the waiting Audi. Tony gets in the driver’s seat while May and Peter slide into the back. The kid hisses slightly and braces his arm around his torso as he does so, clearly done trying to keep up the charade. 

May’s brows knit together in worry. “Can I see?” she asks, beginning to carefully raise the hem of Peter’s shirt.

Closing his eyes, Peter gives a tired nod of agreement, so May continues to lift the material. She gasps quietly when the mottled bruises on his ribcage are revealed.

“Jesus, kid...” Tony says under his breath.

Peter only grimaces. “Yeah, was kinda hard to breathe up there…”

“Can’t imagine why,” Tony mutters as he starts up the engine. “FRIDAY, have Bruce meet us in Medical.”

**X**

Two hours later, Peter is sitting propped up against pillows on one of the hospital beds in the tower’s medical facility.

“Well, the good news is, the bruising is already starting to heal—” Bruce begins, looking up from Peter’s chart.

“See, Mr. Stark?” Peter interrupts. “I was totally fine! We could have stayed!”

_ “Bad news _ is,” Bruce goes on as he holds Peter’s x-ray up to the light. “You actually have _ six _ broken ribs, not five.”

Peter’s face falls. “Oh.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Yeah, you’re totally fine, if you don’t count _ your entire left side,” _ he scoffs hottly.

Peter gives a half-shrug (due to having only one working shoulder). “At least I’m right-handed.”

Just then, Peter’s phone rings with the Indiana Jones theme song. “It’s Ned!” he says excitedly as he presses the accept call button. “Did we win?!” he demands into the phone in lieu of greeting.

“WE WON!” Ned’s voice comes back over the speaker. There’s the muffled sound of cheering in the background. “I got the winning question! The answer was that Danish scientist Mr. Stark hangs out with, Søren Thygesen!” 

“Ayy congrats!” Peter whoops, then winces at his own movements. He sighs. “Sorry I couldn’t be there.”

“It’s fine,” Ned assures. “And if it makes you feel any better, Flash tripped getting down off the stage while he was live-streaming our victory. Was pretty hilarious—not gonna lie.”

Peter giggles, despite the obvious pain it causes. “You know? It actually kinda does.”

* * *

**3\. Fake It Til You Make It**

The young SHIELD medic unwraps the blood pressure cuff from Tony’s arm. “Alright, your BP and O2 stats look good… no dizziness?”

“Nope,” Tony says briskly.

“Any pain anywhere?” the medic checks. “Tightness in your chest? Captain Rogers said you took a couple of good hits back there.”

“Nope and nope,” Tony reports. “Fit as a fiddle.” He thrusts his medical release form into the young doctor’s hand. “Now can you just clear me so I get out of here? I’ve got places to be.”

The medic glances over his notes for a moment before nodding. He signs off on the paper and hands it back.

“Perfect, thanks,” Tony says. He hops up off the exam table before immediately crumpling to the ground in a heap.

The medic’s eyes go wide. “Oh fuck! Or, I mean crap, uh… Hey!” he hollers, crouching down beside his unconscious patient. “Nurse? Someone? Can I get some help in here?”

The curtain opens and Bruce appears, looking rather disheveled after the mission with traces of green still receding from his skin. His eyes drop to Tony’s slumped body on the floor and he sighs. “He passed out, didn’t he?”

“I-I don’t know what happened!” the medic stammers. “I just cleared him—he was fine a second ago!”

“It’s not your fault, Patrick.” Bruce kneels down and gives the frantic-looking medic a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “If he can’t dodge Medical, Tony usually chugs a Red Bull before screenings when he’s feeling shaky—elevates his blood pressure enough to momentarily fool the monitors. Someone should have warned you.”

Patrick gulps. “So... I’m not getting fired?”

Bruce laughs a bit as a low groan issues from Tony. “You’re fine. Just maybe rip up that form before he comes to again.”

* * *

**4\. Unhappy Marriage**

Happy is sitting on the grass at the lake house, his shirt collar unbuttoned and bow tie hanging undone around his neck. Nat passes him a bottle of water.

“I’m so sorry, Happy,” Pepper says, patting the head of security on his back. “We know you’ve been stressed out with the wedding and all that…”

“I am not _ stressed,” _ Happy gripes, uncapping the bottle (a little too aggressively, as it causes a bit to spill down onto his shirt). “Just too goddamn hot outside today...” he mutters.

Tony snorts out a laugh. “Hap, you’ve been more of a bridezilla than anyone here—myself included. And you just took out the flower trellis.” He gestures to the broken wooden arch they’d been conducting the service under. 

Happy pats his chest pocket before producing two rings from inside. “Here,” he grumbles, handing them over, “just finish without me.”

* * *

**5\. Horsing Around**

“I’m fine, I’m fine, Tony…” Pepper mumbles as Tony unclips her riding helmet and slides it off.

“Don’t give me that bullshit, Pep!” Tony scowls. His worry is quickly overtaking him. “I’ve never seen you pass out in my life and you just tumbled off a _ horse! _That is definitely not fine!”

“I just got a little dizzy,” she mutters, scrubbing a hand over her face. She looks up suddenly and glances around. “Where’s Hobbleton?”

Tony scoffs. “Oh, you mean the twelve hundred pound _ death machine?” _he snaps, and Pepper rolls her eyes. “Happy took him back in.”

Pepper breathes out a sigh. “Oh. Good. I was afraid he ran off.”

“We should be so lucky…” Tony mutters under his breath, recalling the last three horse-related incidents ever since Pepper took her old hobby back up again. 

“Hey!” She hits him in the arm irritably. “It wasn’t his fault.”

“Yeah, that’s what you always say,” Tony grumbles. He points a finger sternly at her. “You’re getting checked out.”

**X**

Two hours later, Pepper and Cho are kneeling beside Tony’s unconscious form on the floor, Cho fanning him with a clipboard.

“You know, pregnancy is known to affect blood pressure,” Cho remarks, “but typically it’s limited to the _ mother, _ not the father.”

“Yeah, I think he was just shocked,” Pepper says with a sigh. “Bit of a surprise for me too, to be honest. We’ve been trying, but didn’t think anything was going anywhere.”

“Well, congratulations anyway,” Cho says as Tony begins to groan. “And no more horse riding for a while.”

Pepper sighs again. “Yeah, I figured.”

* * *

**6\. The Bean Tower**

“Is that everything?” Tony asks wearily. He’s leaning heavily on the shopping cart to keep himself upright. “Did you get your weird flour-not-flour?”

Nodding absently, Bruce crosses something off his list. “Yeah I got the amaranth. Just need some jicama root.”

“Cool, cool,” Tony replies, a little breathless. When Bruce asked if they could stop at Whole Foods to pick up a couple of items on the way home from their conference, he was thinking it would be a ten minute detour—twenty tops. He wasn’t expecting an hour of weaving through aisles, watching Bruce squint at one ingredient label after another of foods Tony’s never even heard of. It probably wouldn’t be such a big deal if Tony hadn’t forgotten to take his morning blood pressure meds before they left, leaving him mildly dizzy all day. 

(Not that he’s told Bruce that; the doctor is such a worrywart.)

As they make their way back to the produce section for the jicama, Tony’s starting to feel lightheaded, and by the time they arrive in aisle seven for the organic canned pumpkin Bruce has just remembered, his ears are ringing.

“We good?” Tony asks, his voice a bit strained as black spots dance in front of his eyes. He could really go for a chair right now. 

“Yeah, I think so,” Bruce confirms, scanning his list one last time. “Oh wait! I forgot the falafel mix!”

That’s when Tony’s world tilts dangerously. The last thing he registers before he blacks out completely is crashing into the pyramid display of canned fava beans. 

* * *

**7\. Man Overboard**

“I’m dying, Nat,” Clint groans, leaning over the edge of the small motorized boat. “Just take out one of your eight concealed weapons and finish the job.”

Natasha glances up from her position at the stern, smirking at her nauseated partner. “It’s actually eleven.”

Clint gives a small hum of acknowledgement in the back of his throat before leaning forward and retching again, sending even more of his lunch into the ocean. “Fucking… hate… water missions…” he rasps between heaves.

Nat rolls her eyes. “Then just tell Fury that you get seasick the next time he tries to assign you one.” She pauses for a beat. “You know, like a sane person.”

“Never,” Clint grunts. He spits into the water before shakily straightening up again. “It’s all... mind over matter. Just gotta... believe I’m alright… and…”

Suddenly, the color drains from Clint’s face. Before Nat can scramble over to grab him, he pitches forward off the bow and lands in the water with a splash.

“Goddammit, Barton,” she sighs as she quickly swings the boat around to retrieve her now sputtering partner. 

* * *

**8\. Flash Crash**

“Whoo Spider-Man!” the crowd shouts as Peter swings through the streets. He’s glad that the full-face mask is hiding his stupid grin.

“Spider-Man, I love you!” a familiar voice hollers.

Peter does a double take at the sight of Flash Thompson standing below him, filming excitedly on his phone camera.

Peter snorts in amusement. It’s taking all his willpower not to shout back ‘And I love you, random citizen!’ like the Metro Man meme from Megamind. Instead, he drops to the ground with a flip.

“What’s up, Flash?” he greets, extending his gloved fist for a bump.

Flash’s eyes go wide. “Oh my god! Spider-Man knows my name!” he squeaks. Then, just before their fists can touch, he falls backwards into the crowd.

“Ha ha, whoops,” Peter says with a nervous laugh. “Um… my bad.” He glances at the crowd. “You guys got him, right? ‘Kay, thanks, bye!” He shoots a web up and swings away without another word.

* * *

**9\. Just a Fluke**

“Can’t believe we have to go back to Bolivia...” Nat mutters irritably as she bends down to slide a second gun into her concealed ankle holster. The sudden head rush when she stands again forces her to brace herself against the wall. “These fucking cartels,” she goes on, closing her eyes through the wave of dizziness, “always popping back up like a game of Whack-A-Mole…”

Clint glances in her direction as he slings his bow over his shoulder. _ “We _ wouldn’t have to be going anywhere if you’d just tell Fury you have the flu.” He locks eyes with her and deadpans, “You know, like a sane person.” 

Nat flips him off with a scowl. “I do not have _ the flu,” _she retorts, then promptly breaks into a short coughing fit. 

“Oh no, of course not,” Clint mocks. He grabs his duffle bag. “Just a coincidence that you look like death, are hacking up a lung, clearly have a fever, and I heard you puking in the bathroom twice this morning.”

“I have a _ cold, _ Barton,” she says, rolling her eyes (which does nothing to help her pounding headache). “I’m fine.”

Clint gives her a skeptical look. “If you’re so fine, then how come you can’t even stand up without clinging to that wall?”

“Alright,” Nat says coolly. She lets go and crosses her arms over her chest. “Happy?”

Clint watches her, unblinking. Nat glares back. Then the edges of her vision darken. Her ears are ringing as she starts to sway.

The last thing Nat registers is Clint lurching forward as she feels herself start to fall. When she crashes into the archer’s arms, there’s nothing but darkness.

* * *

**10\. Vital Solutions**

Bruce looks up from the test results he’s analyzing as Tony reenters the examination room. The mechanic is holding a small cardboard box.

“How’s our resident Victorian lady doing?” Tony asks.

Peter, who is sitting on the exam table, rolls his eyes. “Very funny. I don’t pass out _ that _often…”

Tony huffs. “No, only when you’re in the absolute worst possible places for it.” He plops himself down on the vacant rolling chair. “That reminds me, Pepper and I were thinking about taking Morgan on a family road trip to the Grand Canyon. We’d invite you, but given recent events…”

A rather offended look comes over Peter. He opens his mouth to retort but Bruce interrupts by clearing his throat pointedly.

“Anyway, Peter,” Bruce begins, adjusting his glasses, “the test results aren’t showing any abnormalities with your cardiac or nervous system. The frequent drops in blood pressure which produce your syncopal episodes can all be traced back to varying degrees of, uh…” He smiles a bit sheepishly. “User error.”

“What?” Peter frowns.

“Basically, you need to take better care of yourself,” Bruce explains. “So that means making sure you are adequately hydrated, that your blood sugar doesn’t drop too low, that you deal with stress in healthy ways, you report your injuries… etcetera.”

Looking relieved, Peter bobs his head up and down. “Sure, sure, of course,” he promises. “I’ll work on it.”

Tony gives a disbelieving scoff. “Yeah, we all know _ that’s _ never gonna happen”—he tosses the box he’s been holding to Peter, who catches it with a raised eyebrow—“which is why I designed _ this.” _

Curiously, Peter opens the box and pulls out what appears to be a fitness tracker wristband. “What’s this?” he asks.

“That’s your new biometrics tracker,” Tony informs. “It’s connected to the app I just had FRIDAY install on your phone. It’ll alert you if your vitals take a nosedive—hopefully before you join them.”

“Hey! Now that’s…” Peter starts, but trails off, his annoyed expression softening. “That’s actually a really good idea,” he admits.

Tony looks smug. “You’re welcome.”

Bruce shakes his head. “Now if we could only get _ you _ to wear one, Tony…” he mutters.

Tony holds up his own wrist, which has a matching band around it. “Way ahead of you, Brucie Bear. Made a matching set for the whole team. Here’s to staying conscious.”

* * *

**11\. Shovel Trouble**

“Tony, Tony, are you alright?” Bruce asks anxiously.

Tony blinks, finding himself stretched out on his back on a grassy patch outside the compound with Bruce knelt over him. The back of his head is throbbing. “Wha… What happened?” he mumbles. “Did I pass out?”

Bruce wipes his own brow, which seems to be sweating more than the mild weather would account for. “Uh, about that…” He rubs his hand awkwardly at the back of his neck. “I am so, so sorry.”

“Huh?” Tony pushes himself up dizzily on his elbows, Bruce immediately scrambling to help support him. Tony glances down, intending to check the biometrics tracker on his wrist to determine the cause of his latest episode, but is momentarily confused to see dirt on his hands instead. It’s slowly starting to come back to him now. “We were… gardening, right?”

Bruce nods nervously. “Yeah. How’s, uh, how’s the…?” Hesitantly, he extends his hand toward the lump on Tony’s head, not quite letting his fingers brush it. “Can I…?”

Tony frowns. “Wait.” His eyes fall to the large shovel lying beside him on the ground, which he recalls the scientist carrying not long ago. “Did you—” He cuts himself off in disbelief. “Did you knock me out?”

Bruce’s cheeks flush. “I didn’t mean to, I swear! I was just holding the shovel and I turned around and—”

Before he can continue, a sharp laugh escapes Tony’s lips. “You said gardening was supposed to be a _ relaxing _ activity!” He continues to giggle. “You said this would be _ good _ for my health!”

Bruce looks stricken. “Really, really sorry.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! :D
> 
> Come and hang out on tumblr if you want: [whumphoarder](https://whumphoarder.tumblr.com/) & [awesomesockes](http://awesomesockes.tumblr.com/)


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